Breathe Bloom
by Calliopiea
Summary: Visits to St Mungos (Gilderoy/ Harry slash, hints of Harry/ Severus) -- An interlude


Breathe Bloom  
  
By Alicia Flint  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: All characters are property of JK  
  
Pairing: Harry/ Lockhart, hints of Harry/ Severus  
  
** Monday **  
  
"He died yesterday, you know."  
  
Community service was made mandatory during Harry Potter's sixth year. Most of the students chose to do volunteer work for Hogwarts -- Addressing envelopes to potential students and such. Harry Potter, on the other hand, had decided to visit St Mungo's on a weekly basis, conversing with the ill and emotionally disturbed. He enjoyed forgetting his own troubles and being wrapped up in someone else's -- If only for a few hours.  
  
He had first noticed the former Defense against the Dark Arts teacher sitting in one of the easy chairs in the recreational room, staring blankly out the window. Blonde curls fell limply down his back and his lips were pinched together tightly, as if in concentration -- A mockery of beauty loved and lost.  
  
Harry walked over to him, hands clasped behind his back. He said, in his most courteous tone: "Hello Professor Lockhart. How are you today?"  
  
Gilderoy's eyes flickered from the steel blue outside to the boy's face. He paused a moment, searching whatever was left of his memory.  
  
"Do I know you?" he asked finally, batting his eyelashes helplessly. There was something pathetically sad about his demeanor -- This child-like incompetence. Harry frowned.  
  
"Harry Potter?"  
  
Surely the name would ring a bell but, unfortunately, Gilderoy still shook his head -- "No, I apologize but I don't remember." Then with a bright smile: "But I'm sure that we've met before. Would you like a spot of tea?"  
  
Harry had come every day since -- Taking tea with Gilderoy at six o'clock sharp in the evening. Harry would babble about his recent Quidditch games and about how he loathed his potions classes. Gilderoy would smile amiably. Harry had a feeling that, although the former professor knew nothing about the areas of conversation, he was simply glad for the company.  
  
"He died yesterday, you know," Harry sighed, leaning back against the windowpane. Gilderoy's nimble fingers were working a knot out of some embroidery floss. Gilderoy often spent his afternoons working on pointless crafts. This week he was occupied with a handkerchief that read: "All that glitters is not gold."  
  
"Who died?" Gilderoy asked, fumbling with the linen material.  
  
"Professor Snape," Harry replied. "He died yesterday -- Defending my life, as it were."  
  
"I'm awfully sorry," Gilderoy said. "You must have cared deeply for him. You're acting very melancholy today."  
  
"Am I?" Harry asked, arching his eyebrow in surprise. "My apologies."  
  
"No need," Gilderoy smiled, putting down his handiwork. "It's perfectly understandable. Besides, I'm just glad that you're here . . ." Gilderoy bit his lip, distressed at the fact that he couldn't remember the boy's name.  
  
"Harry."  
  
"I was just about to say that," Gilderoy insisted.  
  
** Tuesday **  
  
"Things are so much different now," Harry reflected, staring out the bay window at the waves lapping against the moss-coated rocks. "I don't have to worry about seeing him in the halls anymore. Now that he's dead, I mean . . ."  
  
"Who died?" Gilderoy asked, his voice tinted with concern.  
  
"Professor Snape," Harry sighed -- Knowing that, by vespers, Gilderoy would have already forgotten the information.  
  
"I'm awfully sorry," Gilderoy said, repeating his performance from yesterday. "You must have cared deeply for him . . ."  
  
"Not really," Harry muttered, pulling a picture out of his pocket. Crumpled with dog-eared edges, the picture had certainly been well loved. The young boy stared at it -- Honest adoration in his eyes. Professor Snape stood there, his arm wrapped around Harry's shoulders in a show of affection (One of the few ever captured on film). A forced smile was directed at the camera lens. "No, I didn't really care about him."  
  
"I suppose not," Gilderoy replied, his voice faint yet dulcet. He was continuing his work on the handkerchief today -- Cross-stitching roses along the edges. Harry watched him work for a moment, engaged by the deftness of Gilderoy's fingers.  
  
"You do beautiful work," Harry commented. "That handkerchief -- It's fantastic."  
  
Gilderoy quickly pulled a knot in the final rose and smoothed it out, making sure there was not a wrinkle nor crease in the linen.  
  
"Here," he said, pushing the handkerchief toward Harry. "Remember me. Every time you look at this, please, remember me."  
  
"Thanks." Harry took the handkerchief without objection and, folding it carefully, laid it in his coat pocket.  
  
"Are you in love with anyone?" Gilderoy asked suddenly, completely out of the blue. Harry's eyes widened slightly and then he returned to his normal demeanor -- Neutrality.  
  
"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "I used to be in love with someone . . . I think . . ."  
  
Gilderoy tutted quietly, chiding the boy for his ignorance.  
  
"If you have to say 'I think,' it wasn't actually love," Gilderoy declared, trying to make his words ring with a sagacity that simply wasn't there. "Love is extremely important." Gilderoy looked Harry up and down, sizing him up. "I suggest that you fall in love as quickly as possible."  
  
Harry laughed dryly.  
  
"I don't think that love is something that you force on yourself. It just happens naturally."  
  
"With an attitude like that, no wonder you haven't fallen in love yet . . ." Gilderoy bit his lip, once again distressed at the fact that he couldn't remember the boy's name.  
  
"Harry."  
  
** Wenesday **  
  
"I'm trying my best to forget about him," Harry murmured, his eyes glazed over in defiance. "I'm stronger than this -- I know it."  
  
"Who are you trying to forget?" Gilderoy asked, staring at himself in a nearby mirror. He was attending to his ill-kept curls today. They'd become victims to neglect -- The greasy, matted locks. He hopelessly fluffed them, trying to liven them up a little.  
  
"Professor Snape," Harry announced once again.  
  
"Oh," Gilderoy murmured. "Why are you trying to forget about him?"  
  
"No reason," Harry sighed, waving his hand in dismissal. "No reason really. I showed my friend, Hermione, the handkerchief that you gave me yesterday . . ."  
  
"Really?" Gilderoy asked, his eyes brightening. "And did you remember me?"  
  
** Thursday **  
  
"They're letting me take you out tomorrow," Harry grinned, shuffling through Gilderoy's wardrobe. He was trying to find something dreary and common, something that wouldn't bring unnecessary amounts of attention. "I'm planning on taking you into muggle London. I know this spectacular ice cream parlor and no one will know you there . . ." Harry turned to find Gilderoy looking blankly out of the window. "Something the matter?"  
  
"You didn't mention your friend this morning," Gilderoy said softly. He had decided to quilt this morning -- A winter blanket made of various scraps from the laundry room.  
  
"What friend?" Harry asked, obviously confused.  
  
"Your friend. He died Sunday. You always talk about him."  
  
"Oh yes," Harry murmured, lowering his eyes. "Severus. I do always mention him, don't I? I guess I must have forgotten for a moment . . ."  
  
"Severus?" Gilderoy questions, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. "I though your friend's name was Professor Snape. Now it's Severus?"  
  
Harry bowed his head, not wanting Gilderoy to see him blush.  
  
"I'm rather glad that you've forgotten him though," Gilderoy stated, poking the quilting needle into a patch of crinkled taffeta. "You're still young and it's not right for a boy your age to mourn so profusely."  
  
"I suppose not," Harry shrugged, feigning indifference.  
  
** Friday **  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry demanded, stomping his foot on the linoleum like a spoiled child. "You don't want to go out today? After I worked so hard at getting the orderlies to release you for the day? Well, of all the ungrateful . . ."  
  
"I just don't want to go out today," Gilderoy repeated, calmly. "It's dreary outside and the moisture's horrid for my complexion."  
  
"You don't have much to worry about anymore," Harry snapped, taking a cheap shot at Gilderoy's fading beauty. The former professor glanced at his reflection in a nearby mirror and smiled vacantly at himself.  
  
Harry sighed in exasperation and tore his cloak down from the peg on the wall. He fastened it around he shoulders and pulled the cowl up.  
  
"Well, when you feel like being more agreeable, maybe I'll return." Harry tried to slip a threat in there but it was futile: Harry knew that he'd be back on Monday, as did Gilderoy. The professor refused to acknowledge Harry's presence -- He had turned back to his quilting. He was adding a segment of a Gryffindor knit scarf today. He plucked at the crimson thread, trying to straighten up one of his renegade stitches.  
  
Harry sank to his knees before Gilderoy and used the quilting needle to draw out the stitch. He was very indulgent -- Like he would be with a small child. He began to say something but a pair of lips, coated in vanilla wax, smothered his words.  
  
Harry allowed Gilderoy to kiss him with the inexperience of an adolescent -- One of those messy, fumbling first kisses. And then slowly, Harry rose to his feet and straightened his cloak.  
  
"I'll be back on Monday."  
  
And as he exited the room, he could hear the words whispered:  
  
"Good-bye, Harry." 


End file.
